


Invisible String

by indiffrntnewt



Series: my newtmas oneshots [14]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: And knives, And stitches, But also not, Cranks, Did I mention angst, Late night talks, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missed Opportunities, Near Death Experiences, Newt POV, also needles, also probably my last fic unless i figure my shit out, and guns, but not really, can we talk about how newt and thomas are literally soulmates, how could i forget near death experiences, i guess?, it's kind of there, oh theres blood, thats what its literally all about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28648749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiffrntnewt/pseuds/indiffrntnewt
Summary: Thomas had never been the careful type. With him, it was always going in head-first, unprepared, and figuring it all out later. Some days, Newt hated him for it.Other days, he loved him.or; near death experiences, late night talks and missed opportunities
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Series: my newtmas oneshots [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1309421
Comments: 17
Kudos: 76





	Invisible String

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was requested literally MONTHS ago and i am so sorry, i've had the finished version in my docs since like november-ish but i hated the ending so i rewrote it a million times. anyway, here it is now. happy birthday to my lovely tanya, i hope you like your birthday present <3
> 
> title based on taylor swift's song because yes.

Looking back on it, Newt didn’t remember how exactly it had started. One moment, he was eating with Harriet peacefully, both too wrapped up in their own minds to talk to each other, and the next, he jumped up, instinctively grabbing a knife, because suddenly, piercing through the silence like a knife, there was a scream. But not just any scream. No. It was a slightly familiar scream, and when he looked at Harriet, he saw his own panic reflected in her eyes. 

“Jorge,” she said, her voice slightly raspy and surprisingly soft despite the fear in her eyes. He nodded, gripping the steel handle of the knife a little tighter. 

“Should we go and check it out?” He asked, already knowing she’d say yes. 

Harriet nodded, already standing up. She got a knife from somewhere - probably out of one of the many pockets on her trousers - and walked away, not bothering to wait for him. 

It was strangely quiet in this place. Too quiet. Newt didn’t like it at all, and he took the extra knife Harriet offered him as they slowly approached the hill behind which Jorge and Thomas had disappeared earlier that day, looking for a place to get fresh and clean water. Newt hadn’t seen much water in the Scorch so far, but according to Vince, there were plenty of small lakes and creeks where they were staying now, right at the edge of the scorched and sandy area. Civilization was only miles away; yet they stayed here, hiding, planning, waiting. A few broken-down buildings were hidden among thick trees and tall bushes, forming a small but abandoned down right next to the hillside. It was the perfect spot to camp for a while, and they’d done so for the past week. 

Newt knew what lay behind the hill, though he rarely ever went there. He hadn’t been on water duty yet, due to his bad leg. The town of wrecked buildings by the water was filled with Cranks, and they’d never make it back in time if he went along with them. 

Right now, though, it seemed like he was going there after all. 

Slowly but surely, they climbed the hill together, neither of them speaking. Newt had learned long ago that he needed to save his breath while doing intensive things like running or climbing. Talking wasn’t appreciated once out in the Maze. It was one of the things Minho always chided him for. 

He felt the familiar _pang_ of pain as he thought about his friend. He missed him more than he’d ever admit out loud. 

Harriet reached the top of the hill before him and turned to wait for him. He hurried forward, trying to ignore the pain shooting up his leg. She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Much to his dismay, she wasn’t out of breath at all. 

“Can you see them?” he asked, scanning the area below him. As far as he could see, it looked deserted, but he knew Cranks were hiding in the torn-down buildings. They’d come across the nasty half-human, half-beasts way too many times already, hidden in empty supermarkets or dark, slimy tunnels. He hated them. He hated every single one of them. 

“No.” She brushed her curls out of her eyes. “But I’m guessing they’re somewhere by the bottom of the hill. It didn’t sound like they were far away.”

Newt silently agreed, and averted his gaze to the nearby buildings and small streams of water. It would’ve been quite a lovely town, looking at it from up above, had it not been destroyed by sun flares and Cranks. The grass was suspiciously green, and with an uneasy turn of his stomach, he realized piles of dead bodies had probably been the fertilizer for the vegetation here. 

“You’re not gonna stand here and wait, are you?” Harriet asked, smiling softly. “Come on, let’s go.” 

She took off before he could answer. Newt hesitated, looked back at the camp they’d left behind (they hadn’t left a note - why hadn’t they left a note?) and then took off after her. 

They were only halfway down when they heard it. The sound of punches being thrown and skin hitting skin, the gnarls, hisses and shrieks from Cranks accompanying it. As they approached the bottom of the hill, it only got louder, growing to an ugly choir of noise. Something inside Newt stirred. A panicky feeling. Or an excited feeling. He couldn’t tell. 

They reached the first two houses and walked into the small alleyway in between them. To his surprise, the houses looked somewhat okay compared to all the other ones. They were a dirty gray colour, and all the windows were smashed in. Newt made a mental note to duck every time he passed one in case a Crank was hiding inside one of the buildings. 

Harriet held out a hand to stop him. “Do you hear that?”

Newt frowned. “Hear wh-” And then he did. In the midst of all the chaos, he’d completely missed that the grunts and hisses he heard weren’t just from Cranks. Some of them sounded normal, almost human, and his brain struggled to make out who they belonged to. He had a gut feeling he knew who it was, but didn’t want to believe it. 

And then came a hoarse scream. Undoubtedly one of pain, and he heard someone fall to the ground next. His eyes widened as he recognized the voice and Harriet turned to look at him, her expression as scared as he felt. 

“Newt -”

Instincts kicked in. He ran past her, not even bothering to look out for Cranks hiding in the houses. He felt his ankle twist as he stepped on something white and long - his stomach turned as he heard the _crack_ of a dried-out bone beneath his foot. A few meters away, he spotted something small and white and round and had to force himself to look away. Behind him, he could hear Harriet start to run as well, but he didn’t slow down. 

He didn’t care that his leg hurt. He didn’t care that he was only armed with two knives. 

He reached the end of the alleyway and stepped out into the street. From the looks of it, it had once been a normal suburban neighbourhood. Now, all the houses were in terrible shape, and movement to his right caught his eye. 

Newt involuntarily skidded to a halt and took it all in as Harriet caught up. Four Cranks - one lying down on the cold concrete, bleeding out, one studying a strangely big, bloody shard of glass and two young women attacking a tall man. Jorge. 

Another body lay on the ground, shaking softly, his hand clutched to what looked like his lower stomach. Thomas. 

The sun reflected straight into Newt’s eyes through the shard of glass the one Crank was holding. It was like a kickstarter; he regained his senses, ran forward, tightly gripping his knife. The Crank with the glass was rather short and before he could come up with a proper plan, he’d already slammed his elbow into the back of his head. The Crank was bald, and his head felt strangely smooth against his bare skin. 

The Crank fell over. Newt kicked out with his good leg, hitting him in the stomach. The Crank doubled over, his eyes rolling back, and stilled. 

For a second, Newt was worried he’d killed the man. Then he decided he didn’t really care. 

In the meantime, Harriet had reached Jorge, who seemed to barely notice their presence. She’d taken on the tallest Crank while Jorge used what looked like a wooden pole to deflect the other Crank’s knife. He could hear the sound of a knife hitting skin and had to look away. 

Newt checked his own Crank once again - he looked asleep, it was unbelievable - and then pocketed his knives, running over to where Thomas was laying on the ground. He was still shaking, and Newt could see blood staining his T-shirt.

“Where did it get you?” he half-yelled, sinking down onto his knees next to Thomas. To his horror, Thomas didn’t look up or open his eyes. 

“Hey, Thomas!” he roughly shook his shoulder, a panicked feeling coming over him. Surely, he wasn’t…? 

But no, he was still shaking, and Newt could see his chest rise and fall slowly. Unconscious, maybe? He hoped not - the thought of that scared him so much his mind went blank for a moment.

“Tommy, wake up,” he said, shaking him a little more roughly. “Come on, open your eyes -”

Thomas groaned and Newt immediately stopped shaking him. “Tommy?”

“I’m alive.”

It was said in a whisper, barely hearable, but it made Newt feel so relieved he got dizzy. He was alive. He was conscious. Without thinking, he leaned forward, pulling him up into a tight hug. Thomas groaned again and Newt almost let go, but then Thomas hugged him back.

“You bloody idiot,” he breathed out into Thomas’ neck, forcing himself to calm down. “You could’ve died -”

“I’m alive,” Thomas said again, pulling back a little. Newt’s hands instinctively moved to his face, caressing the side. In any other situation, he would’ve been embarrassed, but he was so happy Thomas was alive and conscious he didn’t really care. Especially not when Thomas moved one hand to hold his wrist and pressed their foreheads together. 

Something passed between them. A mutual understanding, maybe. A happiness to see each other alive. Maybe more - he didn’t know. They sat in silence for a moment, sharing breath, before Newt forced himself to pull away, laying Thomas back down. He immediately closed his eyes again, clearly in more pain than before.

“Tommy, look at me.”

Thomas opened his eyes. “Hey.”

“Where did it get you?” Newt repeated, anxiety creeping up in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He could see a dark, crimson stain on Thomas’ shirt and had to force himself to keep his eyes trained on his face instead.

Thomas looked up and smiled a weak smile. “Hip. You know the weird bone you have there?”

“You mean your _hip bone_?” Newt asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, trying to pry Thomas’ fingers away from the wound so he could look at it. Thomas slowly let go, his hands shaking intensely now that they weren’t clutching onto his skin. 

“Yep. That one.” Thomas hissed out in pain as Newt lifted his shirt, seeing a deep gash on his hip. Fortunately, he couldn’t see the hip bone itself, which meant that it was just a flesh wound.

“Jesus, Tommy,” he muttered, more to himself than to Thomas. He took the red scarf he’d been carrying around since they escaped WICKED and pressed it to the wound, wincing when Thomas cried out in pain. The scary possibility that the wound would get infected through the scarf crossed his mind, but he tried to ignore it.

“Sorry.” He glanced over his shoulder to look at Harriet and Jorge, who seemed to finally have overpowered the last Crank. She fell to her knees, then on her side, and Harriet kicked her in the stomach so she fell onto her back. For a second, no one moved. 

Then Thomas let out a whimper of pain and Newt turned back, checking the wound. It was still bleeding, but not as bad as it could have. Fortunately, it seemed like the Crank hadn’t directly tried to stab him. It looked more like he’d swiped at Thomas with the glass and made a cut, somehow. 

Still, he wasn’t happy with how hurt Thomas looked. His entire face was scrunched up in pain, and Newt could feel his blood seeping through the scarf. 

Footsteps approached him and he quickly turned around, calming down when he saw it was Harriet. 

“Is he okay?”

“No,” Newt said, turning back and pressing onto the wound harder. It caused Thomas to cry out in pain, but it was the only way to slow the bleeding. “We might need to stitch him up. Can we get a medjack over here?”

Harriet threw him a puzzled look and he rolled his eyes. “A doctor. Someone who can fix him up.”

“I can go get one. Or do you think you can walk?” She looked at Thomas at the last part, who weakly shook his head. 

“He was stabbed in the hip, of course he can’t walk,” Newt snapped. “Can you just go get someone, please?”

“Sure.” She was already tying her hair back into a ponytail. “I’ll run. We should probably get him off the street, though.”

The prospect of having to move Thomas in his current state wasn’t appealing at all, but Newt knew she was right. These Cranks were finished, some maybe even dead, but a whole new group of them could show up any minute. 

“I’ll be fine,” Thomas said, looking at Newt. He’d probably seen his worried expression. “Just lift me up. I’m not that heavy.”

“We’ll see about that, hermano,” Jorge said. He was bandaging his hand in torn off pieces of his T-shirt and, somehow, smiled while doing so despite the bizarre circumstances. It suddenly hit Newt what a strange world they were living in, but he had no time to give it much thought as Harriet spoke up again.

“I’ll be right back,” Harriet said before turning around and taking off. Jorge walked over and crouched down next to Newt. 

“I’ll lift his legs. You grab him under his arms.”

“Careful, I’m ticklish,” Thomas joked and Newt glared at him. Seriously, how could this guy joke around while bleeding out on concrete? Maybe the blood loss had gotten to his head.

“Ready?” Jorge asked, his arms under Thomas’ back and knees. Newt nodded. “One, two -”

They lifted him up. Somehow, miraculously, the scarf didn’t fall off, but Thomas did let out a muffled cry of pain. His mouth and eyes were tightly squeezed shut. Newt figured he was trying to stay strong for both of them, and felt his admiration for the boy grow even more. 

“It’s okay, Tommy,” he shushed Thomas, too worried to properly think about what he was supposed to say in this situation. “You’ll be okay.”

Walking backwards proved to be difficult; he’d ignored the pain in his legs up until then, but the pain hit him fully, now. He bit his lip and tried to think about anything else, looking over his shoulder to see where he was going. More than once, they had to stop to lift Thomas up a little higher because he kept slipping away. 

“We’re almost there,” Newt said as they walked towards the bottom of the hill. It wasn’t exactly safe, but it was probably the best place to leave him until he could be moved again. “We’re almost there, you’re gonna be fine.”

“I’m losing a lot of blood,” Thomas commented and Newt mentally cursed at him for it. 

“I know,” Newt said, glancing at the scarf that had turned an unsettling crimson colour. It was almost completely soaked, now. “Jorge, can we sit him down?”

Jorge glanced at the hill, then at Thomas. They were still not at the bottom of the hill, but Newt knew they couldn’t move much more; Thomas had become deathly pale in a very short amount of time. 

“Yeah, alright,” Jorge said. “We’ll leave him here.”

They slowly laid Thomas down in the grass and Newt rushed over to his side again, pressing the scarf back onto the wound. 

Jorge sternly pointed at him. “You wait by his side. I’ll go check on Harriet.”

“What if the Cranks come back?” Newt asked, worried. Jorge grimaced, then pulled out a very small gun. 

Newt’s eyes widened. “Jorge -”

“I’m not supposed to use this,” Jorge explained in a quick whisper. “Vince says I gotta save it for our mission with Minho. But if they get here, just shoot. You’re the only one here who’s capable of defending yourself, and there’s probably a hell lot more of them than there are of you.”

Newt slowly took the gun, feeling how strange and cold it was in his hand. He didn’t like it at all and quickly laid it down in the grass, the barrell facing towards the two houses to his right. 

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Jorge said, wiping his blood-stained hands on his jeans and walking away towards the steep hill.

Newt looked after him for a moment and then looked at Thomas, who had his eyes closed. The only thing indicating that he was still alive were the slow breaths he took.

“Tommy,” he said, desperately trying to find a spot on the scarf that wasn’t soaked with blood to push against the wound. His heart was beating out his chest. “Open your eyes.”

Thomas listened. For once, he listened. He slowly blinked open his eyes and looked at Newt, even having the audacity to smile. 

“Hey.”

“You’re not going to pass out, are you?” Newt asked and Thomas shook his head. 

“I’m fine. It just hurts a lot.”

“Well, you did get stabbed,” Newt mumbled. Thomas snickered. 

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

They were silent for a moment, Newt trying to stop the flow of blood while Thomas tried to keep his eyes open. Apparently, it was difficult, as every time Newt looked at him, he’d closed them again. He didn’t know much about anything medical-related, but he knew it couldn’t mean anything good.

“What do I need to do for you to keep your eyes open?” he finally asked. 

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Keep me entertained?”

“I’m not going to strip for you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Newt said. 

“Spoilsport,” Thomas mumbled, but he kept his eyes open, so Newt counted it as a win. 

Deciding it was best to keep Thomas talking and awake, he asked: “How did you even end up in this situation?”

“I have a habit of attracting trouble,” Thomas said. “I thought you would’ve noticed by now.”

“Don’t go making jokes now,” Newt sternly said. “You could very well have died.”

“And I’m not going to?”

“No,” Newt said, glaring at him. “You’re not.”

“Because you’re here,” Thomas stated, and Newt concluded he’d finally lost it. If Thomas really thought Newt had any idea what he was doing, he was either really stupid or out of his mind. Or both.

“Yes, Tommy,” he said instead. “Because I’m here.”

“You always are.”

Newt paused before answering. “Of course.”

The conversation was taking a slightly weird turn, and he was glad when Thomas didn’t say anything else. They’d never really spoken about their relationship before, and Newt wasn’t sure he wanted to. That was uncharted territory. Terrifying.

He knew he cared about Thomas. A lot. It was pretty much inevitable, with how long they’d known each other. A small part of him always wondered if they’d been friends before the Maze. It would definitely explain why they gravitated towards each other so naturally, becoming close friends within the first few days of knowing each other. Add that to the amount of times they’d saved each other's lives, and it was pretty much inevitable for them to _not_ care or worry for the other.

He also knew he liked Thomas. Probably too much for his own good. But that was something he didn’t like to think about. Feelings, love, attraction, all of that was too much. Too messy. Not his priority, or anyone’s. How could it be, in this messed up world?

So he pushed it aside. And he focused on being Thomas’ friend. Because that was the right thing to do and to be. Thinking about what else they could be was never a good idea. 

Something moved to his left. He immediately reached for the gun, but when he turned, he saw it was Jorge. Then Harriet. Then an unknown man, walking over the top of the hill. He let out a relieved sigh.

Thomas moved his head, but probably couldn’t see them due to the angle, because he asked: “Is that them?”

“Yeah,” Newt said, feeling his heartbeat slow down now that he knew help was coming. “Jorge, Harriet, a medjack. You don’t mind stitches, do you?”

“Oh, no.” Thomas groaned. “Your solution to me getting stabbed is stabbing me again? With a tiny needle? About a million times?”

“Yes,” Newt said, checking the wound again. The bleeding had slowed, something he was glad to see. “And you’re going to lay down and let them save you or I’ll kill you with my bare hands, you hear me?”

“You say such sweet things,” Thomas mumbled. Newt checked his forehead. His fingers left bloody streaks that looked incredibly disturbing, but he tried not to look at them. Despite Thomas’ current state, his temperature was okay. As far as he knew, at least. 

“It’s part of my sweet talk, get used to it,” he said, glancing back at the three people approaching them. He wished they’d hurry up.

Thomas tried to sit up, but Newt held a hand to his chest and pushed him back down. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I just wanna see them,” Thomas answered, closing his eyes. Newt hesitantly shook his shoulder, soft enough as to not hurt him but rough enough to get his attention.

“Don’t close your eyes. They’re almost here, you’ll see them soon enough.”

Newt watched Jorge, Harriet and the medjack as they walked, all of them looking incredibly serious, though Harriet sent him a smile when they came closer. 

“This is Elijah,” she said. “Best doctor around. Vince says hi, and that you’re a complete idiot.”

“Tell him I said hi back,” Thomas said, smiling, but he visibly paled when Elijah kneeled onto the grass and got a small bottle of alcohol, bandages, a needle, a thread and a bunch of other stuff Newt had only ever seen in the medjack hut in the Glade. 

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch,” Elijah said. His voice was deep and hoarse. 

“Can’t wait,” Thomas said grimly. “Newt, hold my hand.”

Newt let out a low chuckle. “Mate, chill. They’re only stitches.”

“Painful ones!”

Elijah saved him from having to answer by asking Newt to move over so he could get a better look at the wound. Newt stood up, stretching his legs, and walked around Thomas to sit on his other side. Jorge and Harriet had sat down by his head.

“Sorry about the scarf,” Newt said to Elijah, mostly so he wouldn’t have to look at Thomas’ pale face. “It’s not very hygienic, but it’s all I had.”

“Don’t worry, that’s why I brought this.” Elijah held up the bottle of alcohol. “To clean the wound. That’s the part that hurts the most.”

Thomas looked at Newt again. “Kill me.”

“After just saving your life?” Newt managed to force out a smile. “No, thanks.”

Elijah removed the scarf and soaked a small cloth in alcohol before dabbing it onto the wound. Thomas immediately cried out in pain and, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he grabbed Newt’s hand for support, holding on tightly. His grip was so strong it was almost painful. 

For some reason, Newt didn’t let go.

***

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“That was literally the worst experience of my life.”

Newt chuckled softly, dabbing a wet cloth on Thomas’ forehead. They were back in the small area they were staying in, after spending about thirty minutes trying to get Thomas up and down the hill and then into the smallest building of all; their very own medhut, as Newt called it. Thomas was currently the only patient there. Harriet and Jorge had left them to talk to Vince while Elijah did his best to wake Thomas up - he had passed out within five minutes. Thankfully, as Elijah had told a panicked Newt, it was probably due to the needles and not due to blood loss. 

Now, they were alone. Again. Once Thomas woke up, Elijah had forced him to take a few painkillers and took off again to make sure Jorge was okay. Newt wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for it or not. 

“I didn’t know you were scared of needles,” Newt said, mostly trying to keep the conversation lighthearted. A drugged out Thomas was bound to end up with uncomfortably deep conversations, which he had learned the hard way. The one time they’d gotten drunk together had ended up with Thomas getting so frustrated over Teresa ( _Teresa, of all people!_ Newt had thought, but he’d kept it to himself) that he threw a couple knives into trees and almost knocked himself out while doing so. Newt had promised himself not to talk about Teresa with Thomas ever again. At least not unless he really, _really_ had to.

Thomas shivered. “They’re terrible. Ever since I got stung…”

His voice trailed off, his eyes becoming strangely glossed over. Newt felt his insides turn cold - Thomas had never told him what it was like going through the Changing, but judging by the look on his face, it couldn’t have been good.

“Anyway,” Thomas said, “I didn’t know you could take out a Crank with one hit.”

Newt shrugged, soaking the cloth in the bucket of water next to Thomas’ small mattress. “He looked like he was asleep. I think I just knocked him down.”

“Still,” Thomas said, closing his eyes as Newt dabbed his forehead with the cold cloth and ran his hands through Thomas’ hair. “I couldn’t do that.”

“You’ll learn,” Newt mumbled, too distracted by the way Thomas’ eyelashes fluttered when he got too close to his eyes to put much thought into the conversation. 

Silence stretched on for minutes before Thomas spoke again. This time, not even the way Thomas sometimes smiled at him could’ve distracted Newt from what he was saying. 

“Teresa did. Once.”

“What?” 

The comment was so strange and unexpected that Newt couldn’t connect the dots in his head. Teresa did what? When? 

“Knocked a Crank out,” Thomas said, opening his eyes. “In the warehouse.”

“The - oh.” Realization dawned upon him. The warehouse. It felt like years ago that they were in there, running away from Cranks. He vividly remembered the way one of them had knocked him down, snapping and grabbing at his face, and shivered despite the warm room.

“That’s nice,” he said dryly, not sure what else to say. Talking about Teresa really wasn’t on the list of things he wanted to do today, or ever. But then again, neither was Thomas getting hurt and bleeding out on the hot concrete in an abandoned city filled with Cranks. 

“It’s weird, sometimes,” Thomas said, apparently not sensing that Newt wasn’t in the mood to talk about her. “Not having her here. Even now, there’s moments where I can’t believe she actually did that to us.”

“Well, she did,” Newt said, hearing how cold his voice sounded and mentally cursing at himself for it. “No point thinking so much about it.”

“I can’t help it,” Thomas said. “It’s hard to believe.”

“What is?” Newt scoffed. “That she doesn’t care about us? Or you? At least not as much as you do about her?”

“No!” Thomas said, almost panicked. “No, that’s not what I mean -”

He slowly sat up, leaning against the wall for support. “I just mean - there’s moments where - where I wake up and forget. I look around to try and find Minho, or make a mental note to tell Teresa about another memory-dream I had, but then I realize they’re gone. And we’re alone.”

Newt dropped the cloth, leaving it in the small bucket. Something about Thomas’ words had thrown him off. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he knew he probably wouldn’t like whatever Thomas had to say about Teresa. 

More to change the subject than anything, he asked, “You have memory-dreams?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “That’s not my point.”

“But you do,” Newt stated. Thomas shrugged, averting his eyes for the first time in minutes. 

“Sometimes. I think it’s because of the Changing. Or maybe whatever they did to us, whatever they put into our brains, eventually stops working.”

None of Newt’s memories had come back. He wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not. Sharing that with Thomas, who was now remembering his past, didn’t seem like a good idea, though. He wasn’t sure he could bear hearing Thomas talk about his childhood without knowing anything about his own (on the other hand, if Thomas knew his memories weren’t coming back, he might not tell him anything at all, and Newt didn’t know which option was worse). 

“Maybe,” he said instead, hoping to end the conversation there. 

But this was Thomas. And Thomas always went a little too far. 

“Do you really think Teresa never cared for me?”

Newt had to stop himself from letting out a frustrated sigh. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure Teresa cared about any of them. She’d done a great job pretending to be their friend, but once she betrayed them, he stopped believing everything she’d ever said. It was a lot easier to pretend she had never cared about any of them than to think she _had_ cared - but simply not enough. 

“Maybe she did, at some point,” he said instead. “But tell me, Tommy, why would she sell you out to WICKED if she did?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas said, locking eyes with him again. “I just… I just hope she cared. At least a little. It felt nice to be cared about.”

“You’re still cared about,” Newt said, picking the cloth back up and pressing it to his forehead once more. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it. It was definitely not doing anything, but the thought of sitting there and doing nothing was unbearable. 

Thomas scoffed. “Right.”

His tone was so genuine that Newt couldn’t help but feel alarmed. Did Thomas really think he wasn’t cared for? Did he actually believe they were just tagging along for the fun of it?

“Thomas,” he said, “what…?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “I’m not making any sense.”

“Yeah, you’re not,” Newt said, almost angry. “Thomas, everyone here cares about you. Trust me. We would’ve let you bleed out on the street if we didn’t.”

“I know, I’m just…” Thomas shrugged. “It’s hard to trust people, you know? After her.”

Newt stared. For some reason, the first thing that came to mind was the word _broken._

Thomas sure as hell wasn’t broken. He was strong, he was determined, he was still fighting every single day. Yet, sitting there, looking at his small form, Newt thought he looked broken. Tired. Lonely. And he hated it. 

An anger he hadn’t felt in a very long time swelled up inside him, anger directed towards Teresa, but he suppressed it, knowing it wasn’t what Thomas needed. He needed comfort. Reassuring. It was almost scary how much Thomas reminded him of his younger self in that moment. 

“Tommy,” he started, staring intensely at him, willing him to look up. “I promise you, Teresa was not the only person that cared about you. Alright? Minho cared - cares. Chuck cared.” 

He paused. Thomas looked up. “I care.”

A burning feeling he hadn’t felt in a very long time filled his chest as Thomas looked at him, his expression unreadable. Something about the way he looked at him made him scared, even slightly uncomfortable, but he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. 

Silence. 

A breath.

Then, “You care.”

“Of course I care,” Newt said, his heart beating so loudly he was sure Thomas could hear it. “I’ve always cared.”

More silence. Newt held his breath, waiting for Thomas to say something. 

“Well, thanks, I guess,” Thomas said, a small smile on his lips. He sounded dismissive, and Newt couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that the conversation seemed to be over. Part of him had expected more. What exactly, he wasn’t sure. 

“I care too, y’know,” Thomas continued. “About you, I mean.”

Newt smiled, fiddling with the cloth in his hands. He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped dabbing Thomas’ forehead with it. Thomas looked at him, a strange expression on his face.

“Thanks, Tommy. I appreciate it.”

It was quiet again, but this time, neither of them were looking at each other. Newt had the strange urge to get up and leave, but found himself frozen in his position on the floor. Something in his brain told him _no. Don’t leave._

He listened, for whatever reason. 

“I should probably get some sleep,” Thomas said after a while. It was only when Newt looked at him again that he realized darkness had fallen. The little building had no door, and a sliver of moonlight shone onto Thomas’ face, illuminating every scar, freckle and line. The ones under his eyes from sleepless nights. The crease between his brows from his almost-permanent from. Even the small lines on his lips. 

“You probably should,” Newt whispered. He didn’t know why he whispered; it just felt appropriate for the situation.

Neither of them moved. They just sat there, looking at each other. For some reason, Newt didn’t feel nervous anymore.

“You should get some sleep as well,” Thomas said.

Newt nodded. “I should.”

Again, neither of them moved a muscle. Something prevented Newt from moving. He wasn’t sure about Thomas, but he had a feeling the same thing was happening to him. 

“Do you…” Thomas looked down, fiddling with his hands. “Do you want to stay?”

“Stay?” Newt asked. “Like, here? With you?”

Thomas nodded. He looked scared - something quite unusual for him. 

“Okay,” Newt softly said. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

He sat up, moving the bucket away from the mattress. Thomas moved, too. He had a feeling it was the first time either of them did so in at least five minutes. 

Thomas lay down on the edge of the mattress, looking at him with an unasked question in his eyes. Newt’s heartbeat picked up.

“We’ll share,” he said, carefully laying down next to him and pulling the thin blanket over their bodies. There was only one badly made pillow, so he took off his jacket and lay his head on that instead. 

Newt stared at the ceiling in silence. It was cracked and dirty, an old spiderweb hanging in the corner of the room. It was almost like something out of a movie, although he couldn’t remember any movies. The thought made him sad. 

Thomas turned his head. Newt followed.

“I don’t move around a lot, in my sleep,” Thomas said. “So you won’t have to worry about me kicking you or anything.”

“Me neither,” Newt said, turning onto his side. Thomas followed. “Minho says I snore, though. But, I mean, he’s Minho. Can’t really trust his judgement.”

Thomas snorted, hiding his face in the ragged pillow. “I guess we’ll find out.”

They were quiet again. Thomas was staring at a small thread sticking out of the mattress. Newt was staring at him in return. He didn’t know whether Thomas could tell. He wasn’t sure he cared anymore. 

“When I say I care,” he slowly said, “I really do mean it. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Thomas said, looking up at him. “I mean it, too.”

Newt could count every freckle on his face. Thomas shuffled even closer, and Newt could feel his breath on his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was telling him he should take a second to think rationally, to think about what he wanted, but he found it very hard to listen with Thomas so close. He reached out, felt the bandages on Thomas’ hip, rested his hand on his waist.

Thomas inched closer, resting their foreheads together just like earlier that day. In the darkness, he found Newt’s hand, and held onto it tightly. 

“I think you should let go of Teresa,” Newt said, not even sure why he was saying it. It just felt like the right thing to do.

“Okay,” Thomas breathed out. 

“And you need to take care of yourself more,” Newt continued. “I can’t -”

“Okay,” Thomas said again. “I will.”

Newt looked up at him. Thomas had his eyes closed, looking much more tired than he had all day. More vulnerable. He let out a shaky breath, knowing that right here, right now, was the perfect opportunity to finally say something. _Do_ something. To let out all the feelings he’d pent up for months, and expose himself completely. Thomas wouldn’t judge - he was sure of that. And there was a slight chance that, despite the odds not being in his favour, that Thomas would feel the same way. 

Then, a single, small teardrop appeared in the corner of Thomas’ left eye, rolling down his face.

Newt smiled, brushed the hair away from Thomas’ forehead, and let the moment pass.

He glanced down at their intertwined hands, knowing there was much more he could and should say, but it was never the right time. It never would be. Not until they found Minho, at least. 

Newt tugged at Thomas’ hand and brought it up to his face, pressing a small kiss to his knuckles. One barely noticeable - one that Thomas would forget about the moment he opened his eyes in the morning.

“Goodnight, Tommy,” Newt whispered, closing his eyes. Thomas nodded, pulling him closer, trapping their hands between their chests. 

“Goodnight, Newt.”

**Author's Note:**

> all that built-up anticipation, and for what


End file.
